


Count Your Blessings

by samwysesr



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Twincest, consanguinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the twins first Thanksgiving, and Wanda isn't exactly happy about the idea of celebrating the American holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count Your Blessings

“I do not understand what all of the fuss is about,” I muttered, wiping my hands on my borrowed apron. Laura had enlisted my help in the kitchen—we’d been cooking since the crack of dawn. “You make fancy meals all the time.”

“This is different,” she said, smiling, “it’s Thanksgiving… the day we remember—”

“The pilgrims first meal with the indigenous people—I know this, we learned American history in school.” I cut her off, scowling down at the recipe I was following—trying to decipher the instructions she’d jotted down. Her handwriting was atrocious, so it wasn’t the easiest of tasks. “It just seems very hypocritical to celebrate that feast in light of the ill treatment the Native Americans have suffered for centuries.”

She didn’t respond; after a moment, I glanced over at her, afraid I’d been too outspoken. “I’m sorry—”

“No… you’re right… I never really thought about it that way.” She shot me a reassuring smile, chasing back the unease that had lodged in the pit of my stomach. “For us… it’s a tradition—I suppose it’s easier for you to look at the bigger picture since you’re from another country and don’t have years of memories attached to Thanksgiving dinners.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” I said softly. “I see it more clearly because I’ve experienced the same kind of discrimination, Laura. No matter where the Romani go… we are always outcasts—always looked down on and treated with hatred.”

Setting down the bowl she was holding, she turned to me, looking shocked. “You haven’t been treated like that by your teammates—”

“No… they have been very welcoming… I mean back home. The persecution still continues all across Europe—it hasn’t faded or lessened since the Porajmos.”

“I’m not familiar with that word,” she admitted softly, reaching out to push back a strand of hair that had worked its way free from my messy bun.

I sighed, frowning. “That in itself is more troubling than you can imagine. You know what the Holocaust is, yes?”  She nodded her head. “The Porajmos is to the Romani what the Holocaust is to Jewish people. Over two million lives were lost… the Roma were completely wiped out in some countries—but unlike the Jewish people… we received no apologies or reparations. No one cared that our people were slaughtered… after all, we are only _animals._ ”

I clenched my fists, trying to still the tingling warmth that sprang up in my palms; my power had been stirred to life by my anger—I had to quiet it before I lost control. “I apologize for spoiling your morning with my talk of such things… but I understand the pain of ethnic erasure far too much to hold my tongue. The idea of having a feast to commemorate the so called _‘friendship’_   between the pilgrims and the Native Americans… it bothers me very much. Where was that friendship when they were being slaughtered? When they were forced to integrate and assimilate, losing their beautiful culture and heritage? It seems like such a meal is nothing more than a great deception, belittling the countless deaths and the blood that was spilled.”

“Are you finished?” Her voice was soft—holding not even the slightest hint of reproach for my ranting; I nodded, dropping my eyes to the ground—my face was hot, cheeks still aflame with the indignant anger that had powered my impromptu speech. “Good—that means it’s my turn to talk. All those things you pointed out are horrible, and ugly—they are things that people should be aware of, and think about… but they have absolutely _nothing_   to do with Thanksgiving, Wanda. At least… not the way we celebrate it _here_ … in _this_ house.”

My eyes flicked up, meeting with hers. “But—”

“No—my turn, remember? For me, Thanksgiving has always been a time of reflection—a day to think about all of the things I’ve been blessed with. Things like the fact that Clint is home with his family—that he and my children are healthy, and safe. This year I have so much more to be thankful for… Nathaniel’s birth… your brother saving my husband’s life, almost losing his own in the process—and the fact Pietro was saved, thanks to Helen’s cradle.”  A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. Moving over to the sink, she stared out the window, her lips curving up in a soft smile. “And believe it or not… I’m thankful that we have two fully grown new additions to our family. I care about you and your brother just as much as I do my own children.”

From outside I could hear Cooper and Lila laughing as their father tried to teach Pietro how to play football; My brother’s shout of excitement when he caught the ball warmed my heart, chasing away the chilly dark thoughts that had been gathering in my mind. “Laura—”

“Just think about what I said, Wanda. You can dwell on all the horrible injustice in the world… or you can set aside those things for _one day_   to be thankful for all you’ve been blessed with. The choice is yours.” Shooting me a stern look, she pointed to the recipe in front of me. “Now get back to work—we’ve got a lot of hungry mouths to feed, and these pies aren’t going to bake themselves.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I did as she ordered, but my mind refused to still; as I rolled out the pie shells and transferred them into the pans, I thought about what she’d said, weighing the merit of her words. Was I wrong for dwelling on all the negative aspects that could be tied to the history of the holiday? If I set aside the strong feelings I had for a few hours, did that make me any less dedicated to my beliefs?

My thoughts inevitably drifted to all the things that had transpired over the span of the last year; we’d faced many tribulations—I’d almost lost the most important person in my life, in part due to the anger and the need for vengeance that dwelt within us. Had we not undergone List’s experiments, we would not have been drawn into the senseless battle that destroyed our city—but at the same time, those very experiments had given my brother the abilities that had saved his _life._

I chewed at the corner of my lip, feeling torn—wondering if my dwelling on such negative things would come back to haunt me the way my need for vengeance had. The answer came to me almost immediately—the memory of my mother’s soft, gentle voice whispered through my mind, reminding me of one of her most fervent beliefs.

_“We must always repay evil with good, Wanda—that is why we are told to love our enemies…why we must turn the other cheek if they strike us. It is our job to be a shining light for others… to show them the truth with our words and our deeds. No matter how hard it is, we must lead by example—remember that… it is the most important thing.”_

“Thank you Mama,” I whispered—so wrapped up in the memory that I forgot for a moment that I wasn’t alone in the kitchen.

“Hmmm?”

“I was remembering some advice my mother once gave me.” Cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being overheard, I glanced over at Laura—she was watching me with a quizzical expression on her face. “She was a very wise woman.”

“Advice about pie making?” Her voice was light, and teasing.

“No… about repaying evil with good, and leading by example. She was right… all this time, I’ve been focusing on all the injustice… I never stopped to think that now… thanks to List’s experiments and being an Avenger… I’m in a position to do something about it. I can show people how wrong their prejudices are.” Using my finger, I fluted the edges of the crust, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the excitement that had flared to life inside me at the thought of helping my people.

“Very true… like Gandhi said… ‘be the change you want to see in the world’.”

“Actually… there’s no reliable documentation of him ever saying that. The closest verifiable quote is ‘If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. ... We need not wait to see what others do.’.” I gave her an apologetic look, shrugging. “Same sentiment, just different words. I suppose they couldn’t fit the real quote on a bumper sticker, so they summed it up.”

“Wanda, sweetie… don’t be such a stickler for details.” She moved suddenly, grabbing a handful of flour and tossing it in my face.

Sputtering, I swiped at my eyes, completely shocked at her actions. “Laura! You’re making a mess!”

She laughed, poking me in the stomach. “Lighten up—you’re too young to be such a stick in the mud. Tomorrow you can go back to changing the world for the better—but today I expect you to cut loose and have fun. That’s part of the fun of holidays.”

Arching a brow, I scooped up the canister of flour, slowly moving towards her. “Are you sure about that, Mama Barton?”

Her eyes widened. “No! I didn’t mean—”

Her words turned in to a shriek as I dumped the container over her head. Her hand shot out from the cloud of flour, grabbing for my arm—I back peddled,  my foot slipping in the powder that had landed on the floor. I hit the ground with an oof—a moment later she slipped too, landing right beside me, but it didn’t slow her down one bit. Scooping up handfuls of flour, she flung them at me; I retaliated, doing the same—letting out a screech of disgust when she changed to chunking eggs instead of flour.

“I heard a scream, is everything okay in here—” we were so wrapped up in our battle, we didn’t hear the back door open; I ducked as Laura hurled another egg in my direction—it splattered against Clint’s chest. “What in the hell?”

“We’re baking,” Laura said, grinning, tossing him a towel to clean the egg off his shirt.

“Baking? More like destroying the kitchen.” He shot us both a dark look, forgoing the towel and pulling his shirt off instead.

“You have no idea what baking requires, buddy.” Grabbing the shirt out of his hands, she deposited it in the sink. “You need to run to the market—if you want desserts, we need more flour.”

“And eggs,” I murmured, bending to collect the shells that were scattered across the floor. Pietro’s mind brushed mine—white noise buzzed through my head as the back door opened behind me. “Be careful, it is slippery—”

My warning came too late—he sped into the kitchen, immediately sliding on the slimy tiles and slamming into the wall; looking dazed, he shook his head. “What—”

“Didn’t see that coming, huh kid?” Clint smirked at him, heading for the stairs. “Meet me at the truck in five minutes—we’ve got an errand to run.”

“I felt your distress… are you alright?” Pietro murmured, shooting a dark look at Clint’s retreating back as he pulled me into his arms.

“I’m fine… Laura just thought I needed to cut loose a little.” I reassured him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “She said I was being a stick in the mud.”

“I’ve been saying that for years and years,” he teased, glancing around the kitchen—blue eyes widening at the mess we’d made. The direction his thoughts immediately  took made me smile—when faced with the prospect of being asked to help clean up the mess, his initial reaction was to flee. “I… uh… better go wait in the truck like he said.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” I swatted him on the rear, pushing him towards the door. “Go on then—get out and leave us to our cleaning.”

“Make sure the kids buckle up!” Laura called out as the screen door slammed behind him. “Men—they act like a little cleaning will kill them.”

“I don’t mind—I am too thankful he is alive to fret over it,” I said softly as I resumed cleaning. “And believe it or not… I am thankful that I am here with you… able to make a mess like this.”

I could feel her eyes on me as she studied me, but I pretended not to notice. “Does that mean that you’ve—”

“Chosen to celebrate the way you do?” I glanced up at her, the ghost of a smile playing about my lips. “It does… after all, I have quite a bit to give thanks for, yes? My brother is alive... we are in a position that can bring about a positive change for our people… you have welcomed us into your life, without judging us for our love—if I did not take one day to appreciate these blessings, I would be a very ungrateful girl, yes?”

“Even if you don’t live here all the time… this is your home, Wanda. We’re your family… and family doesn’t judge each other. She knelt beside me, swiping at the mess on the floor.  I don’t care about anything other than your happiness—that’s what unconditional love is all about.”

Her comment was kind—the sentiment she expressed tugged at my heart; it made me feel guilty for my outburst—I shouldn’t have ranted when she’d been so excited about the meal. I knew apologizing would be futile—she would only brush it off, insisting I’d done nothing wrong, so all I could do was go out of my way to make sure I didn’t do anything else that might spoil the remainder of her day.

It took the better part of an hour to clean up the mess we’d made—by the time we were done, the boys had returned from their errand, sending Lila in with the flour and eggs while they resumed their football lessons. I put her to work, assigning her small tasks the way my mother had once done with me—the bright excitement she expressed at helping far outweighed the extra mess she made, and I genuinely enjoyed passing on the things my mother had taught me.

By the time the cooking was done, we were running short on time—the guests were already beginning to arrive; I scurried upstairs to shower and change, putting on a pretty blue dress that Laura had given me before hurrying back down to join the group that was filing in to the dining room. Romanov had come, of course—she and Steve were chatting with Mrs. Ware, an elderly woman who was the Barton’s closest neighbor. I passed them by, nodding at Sam—he was trying to flirt with Ms. Collins—Cooper’s pretty young teacher—completely oblivious to the fact she wasn’t interested at all. Reaching out, I brushed his mind, clueing him in to what I’d glimpsed in the teacher’s head—the young woman beside her was _much_  more than just a friend. Ignoring the look of surprise on his face, I slid into my customary seat at the large, rectangular dining table, smiling as Pietro grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. 

“I was about to come get you,” he murmured. “What took you so long?”

“It is exceptionally hard to get flour and egg out of hair once it hardens,” I whispered back, smiling.

“Clint told me that after the blessing, we’re all supposed to name something we’re thankful for,” his brow wrinkled as he worried the corner of his lower lip with his teeth.

“Would you like me to do it for both of us?” He nodded, looking relieved—leaning over, I brushed a soft kiss against his cheek. “Then that is what I will do. Stop fretting or you will chew a hole in your lip.”

When all the guests had found seats, Barton stood up; automatically, I bowed my head, but in truth, I have no idea what he said during the blessing. Pietro’s discomfort was too great for me to ignore—I was too busy sending him soothing thoughts to concentrate on anything else.

As soon as he finished, Laura stood up, saying a few words—followed by each of the children. I assumed Natasha would go next, but she shook her head, abstaining, and so did Steve; Mrs. Ware spoke without standing, saying she was thankful for having such kind neighbors, then suddenly… it was my turn.

I stood up, still holding Pietro’s hand, glancing around the table. “We have many things to be thankful for this year… but the most important one is that God allowed my brother’s life to be spared—”

“Is he coming today dear? I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.” Mrs. Ware shot me a quizzical look, reaching for her water.

I stared at the old woman, confused by the question—wondering if her age was starting to affect her mind. Clint cleared his throat, opening his mouth to intercede, but before he could speak, Cooper answered the question for me, pointing at Pietro.

“He’s right there.”

“But… I thought…” the old woman glanced at Laura, frowning. “I distinctly remember you telling me they were married…”

“We are.” Despite his earlier hesitance to speak, Pietro stood up, wrapping his arm around me. “My sister is my bride—we married at sixteen.”

Several things happened at once; Clint groaned. Laura paled, her eyes flicking to Cooper’s teacher; her thoughts were full of fear—she was terrified that the woman would think the household was an unsuitable environment for the children and take steps to remove them. Sam choked on his wine, while Natasha looked as though she was having trouble keeping a straight face.

Quite unexpectedly, Steve leaned over, resting his hand on the old woman’s arm. “Beverly… they’re from Europe.”

“Oh… I see.” Her eyes flicked over to us—she nodded her head. “Well… that makes all the difference.”

“How so?” Sam set down his glass,  leaning back in his chair. “I’m not trying to stir things up… but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Things are different there—they tend to do things the old way.” Adjusting the sweater she had draped around her shoulders, she shot a disapproving look Laura’s way. “I don’t have a problem with them being together—I just don’t appreciate being kept in the dark to the whole truth and made to feel like a senile old fool. It just so happens I had a great aunt that married a cousin—they were Swedish.”

Laura pursed her lips, nodding. “I’m sorry, Beverly… Since it’s not legal here, I thought it best to keep some things secret.” She cast a  nervous glance at the young teacher. “We sat the children down and explained—”

“I’m sure you’ve done an excellent job—I personally have always believed that what consenting adults chose to do with each other is their own business and no one else’s. Now… I believe it’s my turn, isn’t it?” Ms. Collins stood up, glancing around the table—her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I wasn’t planning on sharing this today—I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate… but in light of what I just heard… I’m thankful… and extremely lucky that Jamie has agreed to be my wife, and I hope you’ll help us plan the wedding, Laura.”

The blonde woman beside her blushed, ducking her head down; Laura stood up, hurrying around the table to hug each woman in turn—I brushed her mind, pleased to see that her worries had ebbed back, replaced by genuine happiness for the couple.

I reached over, laying my hand on the young teacher’s arm. “Congratulations madam—I am very happy for you both. I hope your time together will be as happy as ours has been.”

“Please… call me Stacey—and thank you.” She returned to her seat, leaning over to whisper in her fiancée’s ear—the blonde nodded, standing up.

“I guess it’s my turn… I’m thankful for being able to celebrate with you today. Last night I called my parents to share our news—they said I was dead to them, and hung up on me. It hurt…no… more than hurt, it shattered me—but your reaction today shows me there _are_  people who understand. I hope… _we_  hope... that in the near future, the laws will extend even more, giving marriage equality to _everyone._ ” Her gray eyes flicked over to me, then moved to Pietro; flashing us a shy smile, she blushed again as she sat down.

“Is this where we all join hands and sing Kumbaya?” The sarcastic voice came from the doorway—I glanced over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes at the man leaning against the doorframe.

Clint looked surprised. “Tony… I thought you had plans with Pepper—”

“Plans change. Something important came up that she had to handle  immediately… so I decided to take you up on your invitation.” Eying the table, he moved to the only empty chair—right between  Mrs. Ware and me. “I know it’s hard, but try to keep your hands to yourself, Wanda—”

“I think you’re worried about the wrong woman, young man—she’s taken… I’m the one who’s a widow.” The old woman scooted her chair closer to his, shooting him a coy smile. “I’ve always had a soft spot for men with dark, mysterious eyes.”

Stark blinked; for a moment he looked taken aback, then his natural charm kicked in—he flashed her a debonair smile,  reaching over to shake her hand. “And I’ve always appreciated a woman who knows what she likes and isn’t afraid to show it.”

“You know what I’m thankful for?” Sam said, holding up his glass in Tony’s direction, “Getting to see the master in action. It doesn’t get any smoother than that.”

“I would be very thankful if we could eat,” Pietro grumbled, slumping in his chair. “My stomach is starting to digest itself.”

“As soon as Tony takes his turn, we’ll eat sweetie,” Laura said soothingly. “Tony? What are you most thankful for this year?”

Stark was silent for a moment, then his eyes flicked towards Pietro and me; when he spoke, his voice had a remorseful tone that I’d never heard before.  “The chance to right past wrongs.”

Pietro squeezed my hand, his mind brushing mine; I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting against all the years’ worth of anger that still lingered deep down inside—slowly nodding my head. Some things were far more important than vengeance—like the opportunity to help people in need. He stood up, glancing at the man beside me with a sly grin on his face. “My sister and I are very thankful you feel that way, Stark—you can start by writing a check to Amnesty International to help the Romani people in Eastern Europe.”

“Or  I could do something even better… like tell you that Pepper is working on setting up a non-profit in memory of your parents,” Stark said quietly, toying with the stem of his wineglass. “An organization for the Romani that will help build homes and schools… providing good paying jobs to those who need work.”

For a moment… I couldn’t breathe—all I could do was stare at the man I’d hated for most of my life, completely overwhelmed by what he’d said. My mind was full of fuzzy static—Pietro’s thoughts were racing so fast I couldn’t grasp what he was thinking. Clenching my jaw, I gave him a mental slap, trying to calm him down—projecting my thoughts with as much force as I could in hopes he would hear them.

_“Pietro… what he says… it will help so many. Do you think…”_

His thoughts slowed; I glanced over at him—his beautiful blue eyes glistened with unshed tears.

_“Yes… it is what Mama and Papa would want us to do.”_

Reaching over, I stilled the restless movement of Stark’s hand. “If what you say is true… then all is forgiven. Our mother’s greatest wish was to help those in need.”

Stark’s dark eyes met mine—they were full of regret… brimming with sorrow. “You don’t have to—”

“We do. It is time to let go of old grudges and let the dead rest in peace.”

His lips curved up in a smile of relief. “I’ll have Pepper fax you all the details—I’m sure you’ll want to have some input on how things are—“

A loud noise from the woman beside him startled us both—Mrs. Ware finished blowing her nose, then dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m sorry… this is all  just so touching… it’s like watching a Hallmark movie play out right before my eyes.”

Her comment broke the tense feeling in the air—Clint started laughing, and soon, everyone else joined in. My eyes met Laura’s—she tapped her temple, indicating she wanted me to enter her head.

_“Isn’t it funny how things have a way of working out? It’s almost like someone is trying to send you a message, sweetheart—I hope you’re listening to Him.”_

 I smiled at her, nodding and withdrawing from her mind; glancing over at Pietro, I grabbed his plate, holding it out towards Clint. “Enough waiting—didn’t you hear my brother say he was hungry? Are you wanting him to waste away in his chair?”

Chuckling softly, Pietro leaned over, brushing his lips against my cheek—his mind gently caressing mine. _“Out of all the things I am grateful for… you, my sweet, outspoken sister, top the list.”_

 _“You can show me how grateful you are when we are alone.”_ Shooting him a flirtatious smile, I bowed my head, closing my eyes—taking a moment to make a silent vow.

Never again would I balk at the idea of Thanksgiving; like Laura, I would use it as a day to surround myself with my friends and loved ones, counting the many blessings God gave me… taking the time to thank Him for each and every one.. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd hoped to get this up in time for Thanksgiving, but since we lost power for several hours, that turned out to be impossible. Better late than never I suppose—hope you all enjoy it! ;o)
> 
> [Unedited/unproofed due to lack of time]


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